The tourniquet settled against his pale, bare skin with a satisfying snap. Seconds later, a cotton ball was lightly but firmly pressed against the injection sight.
The syringe clattered and wavered slightly as it was strewn onto the small, cluttered coffe table. House lay backward on his couch, his head swimming slightly from the morphine snaking throughout his body.
The pain was receding now, his mind getting foggier.
Yes, he could feel the relief now. His leg felt almost non-existent, his line of thinking becoming less and less clear. His eyes fluttered slightly as the strong drug took control.
There was a faint noise in the background somewhere, almost inaudible to him. His eyes shut momentarily, but he managed to slowly open them again once he heard the distinct noise echo through his hazy mind once again.
Just before his eyes really closed, he thought he could make out a faint shadow of a figure standing before him, hands on its hips, mouth in a grim line.
Before darkness overtook him for the night, he muttered something incomprehensible, and the figure before him moved one of its hands to the back of its neck and said something House couldn't register. The only thing his mind could take in was simple and his stomach twisted in a knot as his eyes closed permanently for the night.
Busted. Wilson...